


The Box

by telera



Series: Ed and Sam's D/s universe [5]
Category: Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Bondage and Discipline, Caning, Collars, Dark, Dom/sub, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 06:05:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telera/pseuds/telera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The very beginning of Ed and Sam's D/s relationship- how they met and how they discovered their kink. Prompted by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw">nhpw</a> and dedicated to her :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Box

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nhpw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/gifts).



> These stories do not follow any chronological order- they can be read independently.

 

 

Sam heard the name Edward Dillinger Jr. for the first time during the General Board Meeting he disrupted making the fire alarms go off in the ENCOM tower. He quickly forgot it.

 

***

 

'Like father, like son'.

A couple of old programmers gossiped in the cafeteria queue as Sam waited for Alan with a citation ticket in his pocket.

'Someone should tell the bastard shouting like that at meetings is not going to debug the OS quicker'.

'Junior obviously has a stick up his ass'.

'Did you hear he fired his third secretary this month?'

'The girl with the red hair? Lucy?'

'Lucinda, I think. She left this morning'.

'Well, she's lucky if you ask me. She won't have to put up with that anal retentive jerk anymore'.

'Yeah. Like father, like son'.

 

***

 

_Who is Junior?_

As Alan cancelled his appointments for the afternoon and called his lawyer, he realized it was only logical that Sam had never heard about the Dillingers. Kevin used to tell his son fantastic tales about the Arcade, the Grid and Tron, but would he have explained to his seven year old kid how an old senior executive from ENCOM had gone to jail in 1983 for white collar theft? Unlikely. And how was Sam supposed to know that Mackey had hired Dillinger's son? Sam only visited ENCOM a couple of times a year, and one for his annual prank. He couldn't know that Alan had made the young Dillinger Chief Software Programmer after his resounding success with ENCOM's latest antivirus. As far as Sam was concerned, Edward Dillinger Jr. was a complete stranger. Only he wasn't.

 

***

 

The lift doors were about to slide close when a young man entered hurriedly. Sam looked at him with disinterest and punched the Ground Floor button insistently.

‘What slave bot program did you use to sound the fire alarms? A  tcp_wrapper worm?'

Sam frowned at the stranger. He wasn't looking at Sam directly, but kept his eyes focused on the distorted image reflected on the mirror-like doors of the lift.

'Yeah' Sam said after a moment.

'I bet you can't do it through remote access'.

The doors opened and the stranger left without looking back. Sam was angry. And intrigued. And thinking already how to install a remote protocol that would make him win this bet.

 

***

 

The hospital room was quiet except for Sam's furious typing on his laptop. The doctor had lectured him about the risks of bungee jumping, the nurse had lectured him about how to look after his broken leg, and Alan had lectured him on an irresponsible behaviour that blah blah blah. Whatever. Now Sam was alone at last, and working on the final phase of his remote program. He uploaded it to the ENCOM security grid and watched in trepidation as it silenced all the sentinel firewalls and connected the fire alarms.

'YES!' he cried and clapped his hands excitedly.

He slept like a log that night.

 

***

 

Sam was signing the voluntary discharge papers at the reception desk of the hospital when a nurse gave him a note.

'This came earlier. It's for you'.

Sam opened the neatly folded piece of paper and read:

_Well done. E._

'Who-?' he started, but the nurse had already left, and Alan appeared on the corridor.

'Need help with the crutches?'

'Of course not' he hissed, and slowly made his way into the parking lot.

 

***

 

After three days at home, Sam limped his way to the bedroom closet and pulled the old shoe box from under the bedspreads. Inside was a broken Power Ranger figure, a dry pasta collage he had done at three, and an  _I love you_  note Krissy McNeil had dropped on his desk in 4th grade. There were also report cards from his teachers ( _Sam is gaining self-confidence, takes pride in his work and occupies his time constructively_ ), an IQ test he had taken while in high school and some birthday cards from a few old friends. Sam re-read the note again- how many times had he read it already?

_Well done. E._

Sam caressed the note one last time. He would keep it in his treasure box, and would devote all his time in finding out who this  _E_ was, and why he didn't think Sam was a failure.

 

***

 

'Thanks for the note'.

Sam left his tray on Edward Dillinger Jr.'s table, and sat down in front of him. After a split second of surprise, the young programmer continued eating his salad.

'You're welcome. How's the leg going?'.

'Healed' Sam replied biting his pizza slice.

'Did it hurt?'

There was a moment of silence as Sam frowned at his secret admirer.

'Of course it hurt'.

'Was it worth the while?'

Sam couldn't tell if Dillinger was kidding or mocking him. He looked genuinely curious, though, and had an expectant look in his face.

'Excuse me' Sam said and left ENCOM's cafeteria.

 

***

 

'... two broken ribs and a bad concussion. What is it going to be next time, Sam? Your heart, your neck? Are you planning to get yourself killed?'

'Alan...'

'Because that's what it looks like. It's all over the newspapers, Sam.  _ENCOM heir flirts with death_ , that's how they're calling it!'

Sam fidgeted with the strings of his hospital gown.

'It's not that'.

'No? Then what is it, Sam?'

Sam didn't reply, and distantly heard Alan droning on for what felt like hours. After he left, he sipped the bland dinner soup of the hospital and took the painkillers dutifully. The note appeared the next morning, and it scared Sam more than it angered him.

_Was it worth the while? E._

 

***

 

'Fuck you' Sam spat the moment he entered Dillinger's office. He threw a crumbled piece of paper at him, and missed.

Ed picked the ball of paper nonchalantly and flattened it with his fist.

'That doesn't answer the question' he said in a neutral tone.

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but all he could do was laugh. He pressed his hand to his still sore side and shook his head.

'You're a nutcase, you know that?'

Dillinger looked at him impassively.

'I don't jump from the top of buildings with a faulty parachute'.

'It wasn't faulty! How many times do I have to-?'

'So you opened it late on purpose'.

Dillinger's eyes were wide and expectant. Sam felt himself flushing and gritted his teeth.

'Of course not' he whispered, and turned to leave.

'How does the pain make you feel? Alive? More... real?’'

Sam stopped dead in his tracks. Suddenly the air in his lungs was too hot, he couldn’t breathe. He turned to face Dillinger, but Dillinger was already by his side.

'Let me see' he heard Dillinger say, and watched from far away as his hands moved over his shirt, pulling it free and bunching it up his side.

'Oh, it's beautiful. I like it'.

The words entangled Sam deeper into his reverie. This wasn't happening. It couldn’t be happening. But Dillinger's fingers were tracing the black and blue bruises blooming over his skin,  _and he liked them_.

'Thank you' Dillinger whispered caressing the tender spot one last time. He rearranged Sam's clothes and returned to his desk.

'I can hurt you more and better, if you want. Come home. I'm sure you know where I live by now'.

 

***

 

Sam's skin was pristine white when he finally knocked on Dillinger's door. Pure. Unblemished. He hadn't cancelled the abseiling expedition the following day, as he didn't believe Dillinger could calm him down tonight. But Sam was intrigued enough to try.

There was only a hook on the ceiling of the basement, and a rough hemp rope. Sam laughed as he saw a thin cane in Dillinger's hand.

'It's not going to work'.

'Of course it will' Dillinger said pushing a full body mirror in front of Sam 'Strip'.

Sam frowned at the mirror and hesitated.

'I'm not going to fuck you'.

'It's not that'.

Dillinger raised a questioning eyebrow, but Sam didn't reply. He gave a  _Why not?_  shrug and took all his clothes off. Dillinger made him kneel in front of the mirror, and bound his wrists with the rope, which he looped to the hook on the ceiling.

'Say my name when you've had enough'.

Dillinger positioned himself behind Sam, but to the side, so that his image didn't appear on the mirror. Sam felt the tip of the cane caressing the scars on his back, and made his best to suppress a shiver.

'You are beautiful, Sam Flynn. But when I'm done with you, you'll be perfect'.

The slash of the cane caught him by surprise, and he hissed in pain. On and on it went, hitting everywhere, his ass, the back of his thighs, his arms, chest, shoulders.

After an hour, Sam felt like a white canvas a child had striped red with a felt-tip pen. He was crying. He was sweating. He had been hard, but now his body sang with pain, and it was such a relief, because the ball of numbness inside started to melt and seep through his pores. He was so alive, present and visible in this precious moment. There, in the mirror. And Ed was right. He was beautiful.

'Ed-Edward' Sam stammered, and Dillinger dropped the cane.

 

***

Sam didn't expect a bath. Or a towel, or a soft bed. Dillinger oiled him and lied down by his side, naked. Sam was too far gone to care.

 

***

 

It worked for a few months. Whenever Sam lost focus, he went to Dillinger for a beating. They never saw each other except during those late night hours, and their texts were their only conversation.

_Ur place, 9 pm._

_OK._

But it was not enough. Not for Sam, and neither for Ed. The changes were imperceptible at first, but they grew with the passing weeks. Sam admired Ed's power, and began to secretly offer him his pain during the sessions. And Ed was fascinated by Sam’s submission, and wanted to take it further.

'No more canings' Ed said one day 'Not like this. Not anymore'.

Sam's eyes flashed with fear. If he had to go back to faulty parachutes-

'I want your body’ Ed whispered ‘All of it, not just your pain. I want to be inside you. In your heart, in your mind. Owning you. Controlling you'.

Sam didn't reply at first. He was scared of voicing the words that would make the willing links of a permanent chain to Ed. So he spent the night alone, and the following day he took Ed to his apartment, to the closet and the treasure box under the bedspreads.

Ed saw the  _Good job!_  post-its Alan had written over the years, a 2007 calendar where somebody had scribbled  _I'll bring the wine, Love you_  and his first note.

_Well done. E._

'I want to be yours' Sam said at last 'Make me be yours. Please’.

Ed kissed him then, and it was their first kiss, too short and too shy.

'I will'.

 

***

 

Sam spent the first week on his knees. He walked on his knees behind Ed, and ate food from his hand. When the pain was too much, Ed bought him a pair of knee-pads, and Sam slept like that, kneeling on the floor and resting his body over the foot of Ed's bed.

 

***

 

The submissive positions were hard. Ed brought the full body mirror again and instructed Sam on how to present his body for him. To open it for inspection, for use. And when Sam couldn't hold the position correctly, the cane was swift to punish him, harsh and unforgiving.

 

***

 

Sex happened every day, everywhere. Ed always used a condom -studded and ribbed- and wouldn't let Sam suck him. He gave him a plastic cock to lick for an hour every day, until he had learnt to do it properly. And of course, there were no orgasms.

 

***

 

The collar put an end to Sam’s training, and to the numb darkness inside him. The dead part inside Sam died that night, and there were no more holes where guilt or fear could hide.

‘I don’t know what to do with this’ he said the following morning as he caressed the worn out corners of his treasure box.

Ed placed something on Sam’s palm and smiled.

‘It’s a part of you. You choose'.

Sam considered the silver key on his hand, and lifted his fingers to the matching silver tag around his neck. He felt the letters engraved there thoughtfully, and decided to glue the extra collar key to the lid of the box. He put it in a plastic bag and buried it in the backyard of his now old apartment. Maybe something would grow there next Spring.

 


End file.
